


The Shadow Of The Moon At Night

by Tiofrean



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Daryl Can't Make It Disappear, Daryl Dixon to the Rescue, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Lori's Death Aftermath, M/M, Nightmares, Rick Grimes Needs a Hug, Rick Grimes is Falling Apart, Sharing a Bed, a pinch of fluff, a touch of smut, but he'll try anyway, prison era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: Rick was devastated after Lori's death. When the nightmares started to get the better of him, Daryl decided to help. He couldn't make it all go away and disappear, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try...





	The Shadow Of The Moon At Night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure as to what it is, other than that I wanted to write something with Rick having nightmares after Lori's death and Daryl keeping him in one piece (or trying at least). I'm still a sucker for happy endings, so expect some fluff inside :) 
> 
> Enjoy! And let me know if I (not so accidentally) punched you in the kidneys ;)

Daryl could see precisely when Rick’s mind had shut off - like a flick of a switch. One moment he was a whining mess on the floor, barely able to gulp in air his body needed for painful sobs, the next, he was staring forward with unseeing eyes, a twitchy shudder running through his entire form, seemingly unnoticed by their leader.

Lori was gone. A baby was wailing in Maggie’s bloodied arms, Carl standing silently next to them, glaring holes in the concrete under his feet.

Rick didn’t see any of that. He didn’t see Hershel hobbling closer, reaching out for the little creature squeezed tightly to Maggie’s chest, still bloody and whimpering. He didn’t see the way his own son was slowly shutting down, guilt mixing with pain overflowing his features. He didn’t see Daryl’s panicked eyes, didn’t hear his insistent _“Rick!”_

Rick moved suddenly, body working on autopilot. He grabbed the axe and walked back into the bowels of the prison, disappearing between smoke and walker guts. He went to find Lori, his mind wiped clean of any other thought, any other _instinct…_

He didn’t comprehend that Lori was splattered all over Maggie’s hands, dripping down from her elbows.

The baby wailed again, and Daryl cringed. He was torn between walking closer to where Hershel was examining the bloodied, wriggling bundle, and going after Rick to make sure he didn’t kill himself.

“She needs formula, and soon, or she’s gonna die…” The cringe was back. Then a lightning-quick decision.  
“Nope. We’re not losing her,” Daryl grunted out, barely able to swallow through the tightness in his throat. _A baby, a dog, a fucking snake… he’d save about anything right now to feel better._ He went to his bike, waiting for Maggie to join him.

He felt dizzy when Maggie’s bloodied hands wrapped around his waist as he started the engine.

 

-&-

 

He found Rick deep in the boiler room, a long time after the sun had gone down and the moon had lit up the sky. The baby had been fed, the prison had gone to sleep, and the only thing that had been missing, had been Rick, so Daryl had gathered his crossbow and knife, had grabbed a flashlight, and had wandered into the deep, dark corridor.

_He didn’t know how to approach him, once he’d found him._

“Rick?” Daryl risked, stepping closer, staring intently at his friend. Rick was sitting down on the concrete floor, shivering from the cold seeping into his bones… or maybe it was the shock of what had happened earlier that day? Daryl didn’t know, wasn’t sure enough to bet, and refused to approach him until Rick had finally raised his eyes to meet Daryl’s steady gaze.

_There was no blue in them._

It shouldn’t be as surprising as it seemed, they were inside a dark building, in the middle of the night - there were no colors on _anything_ around them, not in the meager beam Daryl’s flashlight provided. And yet, the lack of the striking blue of Rick’s usually warm eyes was so shocking, Daryl audibly gasped, freezing when Rick’s absent gaze slipped over his body, then got stuck on the floor again.

 

-&-

 

The scent of blood was everywhere around him. Rick didn’t know why, not really. He turned his head to assess the situation, frowned when he saw the dispatched walkers littering the floor. He glanced down at himself, eyes widening when they encountered the dark redness seeping into his jeans. He touched them, tentatively, half-afraid of something he didn’t really know how to decipher. It was sticky, still so sticky…

He moved his other arm, wincing when his muscles protested with a painful jolt, his overworked joint making itself known very loudly. There was something in his hand, something as sticky and dirty as his jeans.

_An axe._

Why the hell did he need an _axe_ for? He had his gun, had his knife… Daryl had given him that knife, a long time ago. They had been on a supply run while their whole family had been holed up in one of those small, suburban houses. He hadn’t even asked his friend for the weapon, Daryl had just _seen_ its lack, had walked to his backpack and had pulled it out. _‘Found it on a run. It’s sharp. You should take it.’_ Rick had... taken it, that is. He had taken it, had killed walkers with it, then sharpened it when it had gotten too dull. He still had it with him now, tucked into the sleek sheath hanging by his belt.

Why hadn’t he used it, then?

Rick looked around again, blinking at the number of walkers that were now lying motionless on the ground. There were _a lot_ of them. Cleaning them out would take a whole day… he should probably go and talk to Daryl about it. It wasn’t good to have them lying here, rotting away slowly… If they were really dead, of course.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of dread, the kind of which you only feel in a nightmare that catches you by surprise during a peaceful night, Rick raised his head and looked at one of the bodies. It was seated near the doorway, hunched over, looking like a puppet with its strings cut off. Rick stared at it, almost sure that he had seen it move.

One minute, two… time trickled by, and he was almost ready to drag his gaze away when… _there._

A movement. Small but still there.

Then another.

The walker stood up finally, its eyes shining in the darkness around him… _when did it get so dark around?_ He shuffled closer to where Rick was sitting, raising its arms and opening its mouth…

_Rick?_

Daryl’s voice. Daryl’s voice coming from the walker… no. _No._ Daryl _was_ the walker. The ugly, disfigured face morphed in front of Rick, still lurking in the shadows, giving way to Daryl’s angular features when the light went away from Rick’s face, no longer glaring right into it. Suddenly, in walker’s place, there was Daryl, shining his flashlight around, checking for danger. Daryl always did that - making sure they were safe and in a secure place. He could be a great leader…

Rick lowered his gaze back to the floor, absentmindedly following the bloodied footprints spread out on the concrete in front of him.

Daryl _should_ be the leader. He could at least keep this place secure, not screw everything up like Rick did. And now they had a dozen or more of walkers to clean up, and Lori’s _body_ to find still and…

 

-&-

 

Daryl winced when he saw Rick curl up on himself. He drew his knees high up to his chin, arms wrapping around his chest tightly. He looked like a frightened boy, his whole body shaking slightly. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t say a single word, and that was what got Daryl worried the most. Rick was never silent, not like _this._ If he wasn’t talking, his eyes would follow Daryl and communicate without words. And yet, Rick was sitting silently on that cold floor, his clothes smeared with dark blood, still shiny in the low, battery-powered light.

Daryl threw one final look at their surroundings, making sure all the geeks were truly dead, before he walked closer to Rick and crouched down in front of him.

“Rick?”

There was no verbal response, but Rick did bob his head once, almost as if asking Daryl _“what’s up?”,_ so Daryl pressed on, hoping to make the contact last for long enough to get him out of there.  
“We should go back,” he murmured quietly, soothingly, trying hard to carefully formulate the words and speak them clearly. God only knew what was happening inside Rick’s head now…  
“No.” Rick answered, and Daryl cringed.

His voice was all _wrong,_ way too low, too raspy, too _weak._ Daryl had never heard Rick sound like that.  
“It’s not safe here, Rick,” he tried again. He reached out slowly with one hand, then placed it tentatively on Rick’s knee. _No response._ “We should go back upstairs… everyone’s worried.”  
“No. I have to… I…” Rick hesitated, raising his eyes to Daryl briefly, then looking around. He seemed disoriented, and Daryl frowned.  
“We have to get back to the rest. Our family? They’re up there, waiting.” Daryl knew it was partially a lie. Yeah, they were waiting for them, but he had told them to give them a bit of space when they came back. They wouldn’t bump into a lot of them on their way back.

“No. I have to… Have to find Lori,” Rick mumbled out, eyes frantically scanning the darkness encompassing them. “She’s somewhere here… I have to…”  
“Rick, she’s not here.”  
“No! _No!_ Daryl, she’s _here._ I know. I _saw_ her… I need to…” He trailed off, then started to get up. Daryl let him, trying to stop his heart from squeezing itself into painful knots.

Rick wobbled a bit once on his two feet, one hand shooting to the side to prop himself up against the wall.  
“Rick… you’re tired. It’s dark and we only have one flashlight. Come on,” Daryl coaxed gently, trying to somehow make sense of the mess inside Rick’s head. “We’ll come back here again tomorrow, okay? We’ll find her tomorrow.”  
“No, Daryl.. I have to…”  
“You won’t see shit in these conditions, anyway. Come _on,_ Rick. You _know_ I’m right.”  
“I…” Rick hesitated, his gaze flickering to Daryl.  
“Come on. We’ll come back here tomorrow, okay?”

Reluctantly, so slowly it stretched almost into eternity, Rick gave a nod.

Daryl didn’t even know how much air he was holding inside his lungs, not until it left him in a relieved sigh. Gently tugging Rick by his elbow, he steered them back to the living part of the prison.

 

-&-

 

They were silent through the whole trip back, stumbling in the darkness, trying not to step on each other. As soon as they were within the first floor of the block C, Rick hesitated. He looked down at his hand, took in the blood covering it like sticky, black paint. His eyes drifted to Daryl, just for a brief moment, and then he was wrapping his fingers around the bars separating them from the dining area, pushing the gate open and walking inside.

Five steps.

They took five steps before Rick froze, eyes going wide. There was a distant cry, the baby that had been born earlier that day whining softly in one of the back cells.

_Daryl didn’t have the time to catch Rick when he fell to his knees with a sob._

Getting to the ground next to him, Daryl let his crossbow clatter somewhere by his side, his arms too busy grabbing Rick to take care of the weapon right then. Rick was trembling, shaking all over, and Daryl shushed him gently, keeping him somehow upright when Rick’s body tilted to the left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hershel hobbling closer, but he shook his head at him.

_Leave us be. Leave him be. I got this._

Hershel nodded and went away, concern evident in his eyes even in the half darkness brought by a few candles still illuminating the interior.  
“She’s… she’s…” Rick sobbed, curling into a ball in Daryl’s lap. Daryl held him tighter.  
“I know.”  
“I have to…”  
“No.” Daryl shifted his hold, one hand traveling to Rick’s back and rubbing soothing circles there.  
“But she’s…”  
_“‘M sorry. ‘M sorry, Rick…”_ He whispered, so low he wasn’t sure that even Rick had heard him.

It didn’t matter in the end. A few moments later, all the fight left Rick and he collapsed against Daryl, going limp and lifeless. Daryl waited, his hand still rubbing over Rick’s back, until his knees started to hurt from the rough concrete digging into them. Finally deciding to move, Daryl got to his feet, then lifted Rick from the ground. He carried him to the nearest cell and placed him on the bed, stretching out next to him to keep them both warm.

 

-&-

 

Daryl wasn’t entirely sure how it was even possible, but somehow, Rick had managed to get away from him in the morning. The hunter blamed it on the long day and night, on his own tiredness, but there was no denying that Rick had slipped out of the bed and went back into the catacombs unnoticed by anyone.

It was unnerving.

Daryl had no choice but to wait patiently - he knew there was nothing else to kill down there, he had seen the body count with his own two eyes the day before. Rick had slashed through every walker skull that had been roaming the bowels of the prison.

Sitting at the entryway to the cellars, bouncing his knee anxiously, Daryl waited for him to come back - it was that, or the night falling again, which would mean he would have to go and retrieve Rick himself. Maybe tie him to that damn bed later, too.

 

-&-

 

It was almost midnight again when Rick walked out of there. Daryl practically jumped him, eyes busy scanning Rick’s body in search for any injuries. The fact that there were no more walkers shuffling around didn’t mean that Rick wouldn’t have gone and found a way to hurt himself somehow. Thankfully, he appeared to be sleep deprived and famished, but in one piece.

“Rick?” Daryl asked tentatively, frowning when Rick startled, his pain-filled eyes shooting to Daryl’s, before he averted his gaze and got stuck glaring holes in the floor. He looked ready to keel over, swaying slightly in place, hands twitching at his sides. “Can ya walk to yer cell?” Daryl asked, hoping for a nod at least. When he had gotten it, he stepped aside, letting Rick pass, trying not to wince at the mechanical way in which he was moving. The soles of his cowboy boots scratched loudly against the concrete as he dragged himself to the cells.

Shaking his head to clear it a bit, Daryl shut the door to the cellars and locked it, then went to the kitchen area in search of some food. He might not have much luck making Rick eat, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least _try._

Ten minutes later, Daryl was entering Rick’s cell, a cup of hot tea in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other. It had been made according to Carol’s recipe -

Daryl paused, swallowing hard. _They had almost lost Carol. He had found her when he had been looking for Rick, had brought her back, then had gone inside again to find their beaten leader…_ Looking up when he heard a sigh, Daryl focused on the man in front of him.

Rick was sitting on his narrow bunk, feet on the floor and elbows propped on his knees, with his hands dangling between them. He was staring at the wall across the cell, eyes wide but unseeing, and Daryl stepped up to him, putting the improvised dinner on a little crate that served as a night table.  
“Hey,” Daryl started, crouching on the floor in front of his friend, looking up at him and trying to catch his gaze. Rick didn’t move, didn’t even twitch - he just sat there, staring into space.

“Brought you somethin’ to eat,” Daryl murmured, trying to get Rick’s attention. His friend remained unmoving, but his eyes darted first to Daryl, then to the bread and tea standing on the crate. He looked mad, his gaze had that quality to it that reminded Daryl about scared animals.

“I talked to them,” Rick muttered finally, bringing his hands up and hiding his face in them. Daryl frowned.  
“To whom? The walkers?” He asked quietly. He wouldn’t be surprised, Rick had just lost his wife, had a newborn daughter wriggling in a cardboard box six cells away, and had just spent two days in the tombs losing his mind. Rick shook his head, though, hands still covering his face. Daryl reached up and tugged them away gently.

Rick’s cheeks were wet, and Daryl used his thumbs to brush the tears away silently, biting his lip when Rick winced and pulled back a bit.  
“Rick?”  
_“Lori._ I- I talked to Lori,” he mumbled with a sigh. The air that rushed out of Rick’s chest left him looking deflated, shoulders sagging. “Lori, Shane… the others, too,” he went on, voice a small whisper.  
“Rick…”  
“I… I know they’re not real. I _know_ it… I still sat there and talked to them all on the phone… _fuck, Daryl!_ I’m losing my goddamn _mind!”_ Rick curled up saying that, then fell to his side, landing on the narrow bunk. He looked so small like that, so _fragile,_ that Daryl shuffled closer, falling to his knees, one hand going to Rick’s wrist, fingers wrapping around it gently.

“It’s okay…” Daryl tried, but Rick stopped him with a dull, nervous laugh. It sounded so hollow Daryl was surprised that it didn’t echo between them. “You’re just tired. And hungry…”  
“No,” Rick shook his head, eyes falling closed. “It took me the whole day to figure this out… I thought they were _real_ in the beginning. I’m not right in the head.”  
“You’ve just lost your wife, it’s okay if you don’t feel alright, you know?” Daryl murmured, rubbing Rick’s skin with his thumb. Rick’s wrist was so _delicate,_ frail bones peeking at him from beneath thin skin, and Daryl vowed to himself to get some meat into Rick to make his body a bit stronger. It wouldn’t help the state of his mind, but at least his organism wouldn’t give up on him when he tried to heal.

“You should eat somethin’,” Daryl prompted, grabbing the bread and the tea. Rick hummed, then levered himself up, sitting upright on the bed. He took the bread and bit into it, chewing it absentmindedly.  
“Everything alright in here?” He asked between mouthfuls, glancing briefly at Daryl, who nodded.  
“Everyone’s okay. The baby is fine… We found Carol,” he added, feeling strangely warm when Rick’s eyes glittered in the half-darkness around them.  
“Thank god,” Rick breathed out, getting back to his bread. Daryl didn’t mind his short acknowledgement - the man had just lost his wife, after all. Besides, the palpable relief in Rick’s voice was enough for Daryl to know that he was genuinely happy about the news. Daryl would just have to wait a bit for the smile to appear on Rick’s face, but it was okay - the hunter was patient.

He waited until Rick was finished with the bread, before he grabbed the tea and brought it closer. Daryl handed it to him carefully, making sure Rick’s grip was strong enough to let go of the mug. It wasn’t hot anymore, but it was warm enough to pour some heat into Rick’s body - Daryl could see him shivering, and whether it was from the cold of the prison, or from his emotions running wild, a bit of liquid warmth wouldn’t hurt.  
“You should get some sleep,” Daryl muttered, hoping that Rick would listen to him. It was pretty obvious just how exhausted their leader was, but Daryl knew that he would protest any attempts at getting him into bed. He wasn’t surprised when Rick did just that, wild eyes shooting to Daryl’s and holding his gaze.

“Not tired,” Rick objected. Daryl eyed him.  
“Yeah, you are. Don’t have to sleep if you don’t wanna. Just… lie down for a bit?” Rick frowned, hearing that, then nodded. Daryl let out a relieved sigh, the breath he didn’t know he was holding leaving him in a rush.

He watched as Rick looked down at his hands, winced, then stood up shakily, placing the empty mug back on the crate.  
“I need to…” he trailed off, seemingly not able to form words, but his hands went to the buttons of his shirt anyway. He started to undo them, one by one, and Daryl caught on quickly - the material of it was dirty, black with dried blood and walker guts, smeared with god knew what. He turned around, leaving Rick to take the shirt off, and looked for one of the water bottles that usually occupied the corners of the cell. When he found one, Daryl pulled his red rag from his back pocket, splashed some water on it, then turned back to Rick.

His friend was standing next to the crate, his shirt gripped tightly in his hands, eyes unfocused. He looked _lost,_ as lost as Daryl had been the first time he had run away from his home and into the woods. Daryl swallowed through the tightness in his throat and approached him, tugging the worn down material gently out of Rick’s grasp. He used the wet rag to clean up Rick’s face and hands, shushing him when he tried to protest. Once done, he found Rick something clean to wear in a pile of freshly washed clothes lying in the corner, leaving Rick the task of taking off his dirty jeans. Daryl folded them and put them aside together with the shirt, making a mental note to try and clean them both up later. When he turned back around, Rick was lying on the thin mattress with a ratty blanket thrown over his curled up body.

With a nod, Daryl turned away to leave, but Rick’s voice stopped him in his tracks.  
“Stay?” It was so small and quiet that Daryl was sure he wouldn’t have heard it outside the cell. Not able to ignore the request and leave Rick like that, he went back and sat down on the bunk. After a brief moment of hesitation, Rick shuffled back a bit, making space that Daryl took immediately.

 

-&-

 

Rick was lying in bed with Lori, cuddled up against her, holding her tightly to his chest. She turned to him, her eyes half open in that lazy manner that got them sometimes during the weekends. Carl was still asleep, so they had time to lounge a bit.

She leaned up and kissed him, softly, so _softly_ he could barely feel it at all. Hungry for more, he dove forward, one hand going to the back of her head, tilting it gently, deepening the kiss. He moved his fingers carefully, threading them through her hair, combing the long strands, then withdrawing, only to start the same path anew. They were a little tangled, so he pulled just a bit, trying to work his way through the knots, but something changed.

His fingers came away sticky and slick, Lori’s long hair wrapped all around them, _glued to them._ Rick gasped, leaning back, eyes opening in shock. _Something was wrong…_ Lori’s eyes were dull, _lifeless,_ but she was still _looking at him. Looking at him like she did on the morning they had gotten married, all shy smiles and happy dimples right under the cheekbones… The same dimples were disappearing now, melting down along with her face, and Rick jumped back, staring in horror as his wife started to change before his very eyes._

 _Her skin started to turn gray and her hair just slipped off of her skull in patches of dead skin, her mouth opening as if she wanted to say something, but all that came out was his name._ _  
_ _“Rick!”_

_But no matter what she said, what she could have said, Rick wasn’t able to move. He was frozen in place, torn between turning around and running away, and picking up the pieces and sticking them back to Lori’s skeleton._

_Rick!_

“Rick! Fuck, man… _wake up!”_

Slowly, so very slowly, Lori’s disfigured face disappeared, and Daryl’s took its place. For a moment, Rick thought it would start _melting,_ too, but then his lungs remembered how to work and his brain got a much needed oxygen kick. He gulped in a few mouthfuls of the stuffy prison air as he blinked furiously at his friend.

Daryl was sitting right next to him on the narrow bed, a concerned frown evident over his troubled eyes.  
“Rick?”  
“I’m awake,” Rick mumbled quickly. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment, then opened them again quickly when pictures of Lori’s half-decayed face attacked him behind his eyelids.

_It was a dream. It was a dream... It was just a dream…_

No matter how many times Rick tried to tell himself that, it didn’t work. Belatedly, he realized that his hands were shaking, so he fisted them in the thin blanket, focusing on calming down his too rapid breathing. A hand appeared on his cheek - _Daryl’s hand, broad and strong, rough from all the work he’d been doing -_ and with a surprised gasp, Rick discovered that he had been crying. Daryl brushed the wetness away gently, moving his thumb slowly over his cheekbone, probably only smearing it around even more.

_It didn’t matter._

The softness of the gesture, the infinite care woven into it brought a fresh wave of tears, and Rick leaned into Daryl’s palm, nuzzled it, until Daryl shifted closer and wrapped his arms around Rick’s trembling form, a low shushing sound leaving his lips and flowing right into Rick’s ear.  
“Shhh… it was just a dream, Rick. Just a dream, yer fine. Yer alright…”

Somehow, Rick could believe it when it came from Daryl, as if his friend had some kind of magical ability of putting a thought in his mind and making it stick there... making it real enough for Rick to cling to desperately.

Time lost meaning after that, and the room around them became a blur. Rick’s hands traveled to Daryl’s vest, this one leather item of clothing he could recognize anywhere even being half-blind. His fingers fisted into it, holding on frantically, almost as if he was afraid he would fall into an endless abyss if he let go. Daryl didn’t even seem to notice, still sitting there and letting Rick hang off of him like a pitiful barnacle in the midst of a whirlpool, strong arms anchoring him against the storm inside his own head.

They pulled apart eventually, Rick mumbling something about taking a piss, Daryl nodding then following him like his personal guard.  
“I ain’t getting back there,” Rick said, turning to the showers, stripping himself bare. Daryl grunted out his acknowledgement and sat down on the nearby bench, trying not to steal glances at Rick under the icy water. _He almost managed that, too._ Shaking himself as if he was the wet one, Daryl went out to bring Rick a towel and a fresh set of clothes.

 

-&-

 

The days started to merge into an endless stream of forced smiles and hollow eyes. Rick had troubles sleeping, so he picked up a new routine - he would go to the watchtower to hold a night shift, then doze off during the day. He never told anyone why, and they never asked, but Daryl didn’t need words to see just how haunted Rick’s eyes had been after each night he had tried to sleep through. It was easier to do it in the daylight, with the sound of birds drifting around him, with the walkers snarling from behind the fence.

Daryl never asked, but he kept a silent vigil over Rick all the same, making sure he got the most out of his half-assed catnaps that he took during the day. It wasn’t enough, and he knew that the situation would have to be changed sooner rather than later, but as long as he didn’t have to wake Rick up from yet another nightmare, he was content to let him be for a while.

The routine got shifted after a week or two, though. Rick had been forced - by his own body, not by anyone from their family - to start sleeping at night. It wasn’t easy, and he stayed up more times than not, stretching his energy reserves thin, but he at least tried to get back to a normal living schedule.

Daryl wasn’t sure if he approved of that. On one hand, he was glad that Rick was at least trying to get back to something that was considered normal, on the other - he wasn’t even sure what normal _was_ anymore, not to mention that all those attempts had made Rick’s already hollow cheeks and dark-circled eyes even worse.

But, Daryl tried not to think about it, opting instead to keep himself busy with hunting. Providing for their group had always made him feel more like he belonged, and it took his mind off of things like nothing else had. If he couldn’t put stuff in Rick’s head in the right order again, if he couldn’t lift the cold weight of grief off his shoulders, then he would at least do something goddamn useful around the prison. It all worked pretty well, until one night, when his hunting trip had almost turned into his final one.

The moment had been quick, a there-and-gone struggle that had ended as soon as it had started, but it had left Daryl shaking in his boots. It hadn’t been anything unusual either - a walker, partially covered by fallen leaves had grabbed at his ankle and managed to pull him to the ground. When Daryl had lost his balance, the crossbow had skittered away from him and out of his reach. He had a brief second to hiss, then his hands had been scrambling for the knife at his belt, yanking it out and pushing it through the dead guy’s skull.

It hadn’t been a long fight, but during those few seconds of panicked survival, Daryl’s mind had brought up only one picture - Rick, curled up alone in his cell, twitching with another nightmare. In that brief moment of clarity, Daryl had realized, that Rick didn’t really have anyone else he was close enough to to actually help him pick up the pieces of his life. The whole of their family meant well, of course, but they had yet to show their support in ways other than making Rick food and shooing him off to bed. It hadn’t even been for the lack of trying on their part, it was just… Daryl was the closest person to Rick, and one Rick trusted completely. Rick wouldn’t show his vulnerable side to anyone else, even if they were family… Daryl was the only one. And Rick needed him.

The realization had hit Daryl like a brick, had made his struggle quicker and his hands more sure when they had pierced the walker’s skull. He had had to get back to prison alive, he had had to be there for Rick.

Well, he _was_ back now, pacing silently along the cells on the ground level, too high on adrenaline to sleep. He tried to keep his feet light not to wake up anyone. He was surprised when he heard Rick’s voice above him.  
“Can’t sleep?”

Daryl scoffed at that, continuing his pacing, although he moved a bit towards the middle of the block, so he could see his friend standing on the upper level, hands braced against the railings. Rick was dressed in a soft-looking grey t-shirt and a set of sweatpants, and he looked like an apparition just standing there and staring down at him. He watched Daryl silently, until he apparently decided to head back to his cell. Seeing Rick’s disappearing figure, Daryl sighed, then made his way up the stairs.

“Can’t sleep either?” He asked, standing in the doorway. Rick was lying on his ratty mattress, staring up at the top bunk. He shook his head slowly.  
“I had a dream again…” he muttered. Daryl stepped inside, letting the flimsy curtain fall behind him.  
“A dream?” He asked wearily, squinting at Rick in the darkness. The only source of light in the cell was the moon, shining down at them from one of the high windows. It made Rick’s gaze darker and his cheeks more prominent.  
“A nightmare,” Rick supplied with a shrug. Daryl gave him a long, assessing look, his eyes almost glowing in the shadows.  
“Budge up,” he gruffed out finally.

Rick didn’t expect _that_ to happen, but he happily obliged, moving a bit further back on the narrow bed. Daryl took the offered space, stretched on his side next to Rick and closed his eyes.

Before he knew what was going on, he was jolted awake by Rick’s flailing around, one hand smacking him on his chest when Rick threw it to the side. Daryl propped himself up on one elbow, then reached out and squeezed Rick’s shoulder to wake him up.  
“Hey, man… ‘s just a dream. Come on…” He said, only loud enough to be heard by Rick. It was still dark around them, and Daryl guessed - judging by his sandpaper eyelids - that it couldn’t have been more than an hour since he had drifted off.

Rick didn’t wake, though. He kept moving his arms, _his whole body really,_ wriggling and squirming in place, effectively pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. He looked like he was panicking, something Daryl had rarely witnessed on Rick’s usually composed face - he had always kept tight reins on his emotions, even when everything was going to shit.

Without a clue as to what to do, Daryl squeezed Rick’s shoulder again, then shook him gently. There was a chance that Rick would lash out at him unconsciously, but Daryl would take that to having him stuck inside his nightmare for god knows how long. At first it had no effect, but after a minute, Rick stilled. It took another long moment for him to open his eyes and blink blearily in the darkness. The moonlight was still falling down on them, and Daryl sucked in a sharp breath when it illuminated Rick’s face and made fresh tracks of tears glitter brightly.

“Dare?” Rick asked with his voice full of confusion. He frowned, then ran a hand down his face. A soft groan, a long sigh, and Rick was back to being himself. He even started to apologize to Daryl for waking him up.  
“‘S okay… hey,” Daryl prompted, biting his lip when Rick shook his head dejectedly.  
“You were a walker…” Rick whispered, his tone carefully flat. “In the dream. You were a walker… Lori, too. And Glenn. And Maggie… but…” he paused. When he swallowed, it was loud heavy, and Daryl winced. For one absurd moment, Daryl was almost sure that Rick was psychic and that he knew about the accident in the woods earlier.  
“‘M not dead, Rick. Ya hear me? ‘M not dead,” he whispered back, aware of their family sleeping a few cells away.

He saw Rick nod, but the frown on Rick’s face didn’t disappear. Daryl didn’t like it at all. He could almost _feel_ his friend hurting, not to mention that Rick’s breathing was still too shallow and a bit too fast. Deciding to take a risk, Daryl reached with one hand and placed it on Rick’s cheek. Carefully, he swiped his thumb just under his eyelid, brushing the lingering wetness away. When Rick didn’t react, Daryl used his hand to gently turn his head, making Rick look at him. He couldn’t help but smile softly when, instead of just looking at him, Rick shifted his whole body, until he was facing Daryl, his eyes wide and still so _scared._

More than anything, Daryl wanted to make him feel at ease again, feel _safe_ once more.

“You were a walker…” Rick mumbled again, like a broken record, and Daryl’s heart squeezed at the misery pouring out of his friend in that moment. Tentatively, knowing that Rick was as fragile as cracked china, Daryl leaned in.  
“Had a close call in t’ forest earlier. Handled it, but it was close,” Daryl murmured quietly, hating the way Rick’s eyes widened in alarm. “Didn’t die, ain’t bit, got the fucker right between the eyes. Point is… ‘M not dead,” he breathed out, his gaze holding Rick’s, “an’ ya ain’t, either,” he added, closing the remaining distance. He didn’t even know what pushed him to do this, he just did. Maybe it was the way Rick’s lip trembled slightly? Or maybe the way Rick’s eyes were getting all misty again?

The kiss was soft and careful, a slow press of lips, almost shy in the darkness. It didn’t last long, either - over in a few seconds, there and gone. It was surprising just what a huge effect it had on Rick, though. He was shocked into stillness, his breaths no longer rapid… _he didn’t seem to be breathing at all,_ to tell the truth. Daryl frowned, drawing away, looking at him seriously. Rick just blinked at him owlishly, his big blue eyes full of something Daryl couldn’t decipher in the middle of the night.

Seeing just how stuck Rick seemed to be, Daryl would be content to just lie back down again. His elbow was beginning to protest the prolonged exercise it had been given, holding up most of Daryl’s upper body weight. Before he could lower himself to the mattress, however, Daryl felt Rick’s hand sneak up to his chest, gentle fingers skimming over his button-up and higher, along his neck, until they could tangle in his messy hair. Surprised, he fixed his gaze on Rick’s, asking a silent question.

_“What can I do?”_

Rick stared at him for an endless moment, fingers curling around dark strands, the bottom lip captured between teeth.

_“Help me…”_

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, but he relaxed quickly from his initial surprise. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, just a gasp when Rick scratched his fingernails gently over his scalp.

_“How?”_

“Make me feel alive,” Rick whispered finally, waiting only long enough to see Daryl’s small nod, before he was diving forward, pulling Daryl in with the hold he had on his hair. That kiss was desperate in its madness, the need trickling out of Rick and pooling down low in Daryl’s spine. It lit up his nerve endings, made him tingle all over, and pushed him to do something instead of just letting Rick plunder his mouth with an insistent tongue.

A few seconds, a small bite to Daryl’s bottom lip, and the hunter was finally kicked into reciprocating. He let himself be pulled down and maneuvered, until he was half-lying on top of Rick, one knee jammed between Rick’s thighs, Rick’s hands fisted in Daryl’s hair. It was almost as if he was afraid that Daryl would disappear the moment he let go, disperse in the air like another dream, and Daryl scoffed at how silly that was. Wanting to calm his friend down, he ran both hands over Rick’s sides, then propped himself on his left elbow, letting his palm find the back of Rick’s neck. Daryl held him close and kissed him back with equal fierceness, his right hand traveling over Rick’s side slowly. He rubbed his fingers up and down, rucking up the t-shirt Rick was wearing in the process.

Rick broke the kiss with a small moan, just quiet enough not to raise too much suspicion outside the cell. Daryl chose this very moment to slide his questing hand under the soft tee, working his way up until he could rake his nails over Rick’s ribs, making him shiver. When Rick’s back arched, Daryl slipped his palm around, mapping out the curve of each vertebra, until the waistband of Rick’s sweatpants stopped his journey.

He leaned back, his gaze focused on Rick’s face, silently asking permission. With a small “yeah” and a tongue darting quickly over his lips, Rick nodded his assent, his hands changing their position. They slid away from Daryl’s hair, trailed down over his chest, until they were resting on the bottom of his sleeveless button-up. Rick’s eyes flickered down to where his fingers started to fiddle with the last button, before he met Daryl’s gaze again.  
“Go on,” Daryl rasped out, diving in and seeking Rick’s mouth with his own again.

This kiss was messy, uncoordinated with the both of them trying to pull off each other’s clothes, but it didn’t matter. Soon enough, they were both naked, and Daryl had a very trembling Rick pinned underneath him, Rick’s hands rubbing up and down Daryl’s back distractedly, while Rick tried to suck all the air out of his lungs.

Surprisingly, Daryl hadn’t even realized that Rick was running his fingers over his scars… once he did, he decided it didn’t matter. It was Rick, and Rick would never hurt him, certainly not with something buried so deep in Daryl’s past it could have been another lifetime.

Choosing to focus on making Rick feel good, Daryl dedicated himself to finding all of Rick’s sweet spots, starting from the delicate patch of skin just behind Rick’s ear. He licked it, then sucked on it, and it earned him a small groan and an aborted thrust of hips against his own. Repeating the caress, Daryl bucked forward, bringing their bodies flush together, and _oh yes, there…_

Rick gave a tiny moan, choked off because he didn’t want to send everyone running their way - but it was _there,_ and it made Daryl’s head spin. He started rocking his body on top of Rick, grinding his own erection into Rick’s, gasping at how good it felt.  
“Fuck…”  
“Yesss....” Rick dragged the ‘s’ out, until it became a quiet hiss, his hands finding purchase on Daryl’s shoulders. One of his legs came up, and Rick hooked it around Daryl’s hips, drawing him in. “Please.”

Daryl wasn’t sure if it was the quiet _please,_ or the way Rick’s whole body seemed to try and fuse itself with his own, but he knew that he wanted - _needed -_ to make Rick come. Shatter him apart and make him whole again with careful hands and gentle kisses. Rick deserved to feel good, he deserved to feel something other than fear and death that had seemingly gotten a grip on him when Lori had died. And so, Daryl brought his right hand between them, wrapped it around both of their cocks, and squeezed.

The reaction was instantaneous - Rick threw his head back, mouth opening on a moan that he somehow managed to choke down into a strangled gasp. Daryl could feel Rick’s length jerking within his grasp, precome slicking up his fingers when he started to move his fist slowly. He used the grip he had on Rick’s hair and tugged his head back, attacking Rick’s throat as soon as it was exposed, nibbling on the skin until he was sure there would be bruises come morning. Rick didn’t seem to care - he just arched up against him, his back coming clean off the mattress and pressing his chest against Daryl’s as if he wanted to get them stuck permanently together.

“Daryl… fuck, yes, _Dare…”_

Now, Daryl absolutely hated when people used nicknames on him. But, there was something sweet in the way Rick spoke it, something that traveled right to Daryl’s heart and made it thump wildly against his ribcage.  
“Yeah?” He asked, half-coherent, feeling himself nearing the edge. He picked up his pace, too, jerking them both with long, quick strokes, biting down Rick’s throat until he found the hollow above one of the clavicles. He dug his tongue inside, then scraped his teeth over it, making Rick groan a bit too loudly.  
_“Jesus…_ don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop, I’m so close…” Rick murmured, voice low and raspy. Daryl hummed, leaning back a bit. He tugged at Rick’s hair to get his attention, his other hand busy swiping his thumb over the heads of their dicks.  
“Rick,” he growled out, trying not to be too loud. Rick’s blue eyes opened, then blinked up at him.

He looked almost ethereal in the pale moonlight falling down, and Daryl couldn’t help himself - he dove down and smashed their mouths together, adding a twist to his moving hand. As it turned out, it was enough to send them both over the edge. Rick fell first, shooting all over Daryl’s hand and his own stomach, making a right mess. There was so much of his come that Daryl didn’t think it mattered when he added his own a few seconds later, groaning and muffling the sound with Rick’s lips and tongue.

They kept on kissing until their bodies decided that enough was enough, and Daryl was forced to slide to the side lest he squish Rick underneath his weight. As he lied there, panting, little aftershocks still running through his frame and making him twitch, he wondered what should he do now? Should he stay and keep an eye on Rick? Or should he excuse himself politely and go to his perch, staying near in case another nightmare struck?

Thankfully, Rick had decided for him. After a very half-assed swipe around his abdomen with one corner of the sheet, Rick turned to face Daryl, then sneaked one arm around him, keeping them close.  
“Stay?” He asked quietly, nuzzling into Daryl’s neck, pushing his nose just under the hunter’s jaw. Daryl hummed quietly in affirmative. He reached behind him, to where the covers had gotten bunched up sometime earlier and tugged them over their bodies. Then, he took his hand and ran careful fingers along Rick’s arm, up to his shoulder, only to settle his palm on the nape of Rick’s neck. He stayed like this, Rick held securely against him, until he felt himself dozing off.

 

-&-

 

In the morning, Daryl woke up to warmth wrapped around him, _pressed against his back,_ and he belatedly realized that they must have shifted during the night, because now Rick was behind him, spooning him, both of Rick’s arms looped tightly around Daryl’s chest.  
“Thank you.” It was a small whisper, and Daryl sighed when it fanned out against his skin. They were both naked, but somehow it didn’t feel as strange as Daryl would have pictured it to be. He had never woken up with another person in his bed - it hadn’t been that hard when all of his previous experiences had been one-night stands. He hummed quietly, then found one of Rick’s hands. Encircling the wrist with his fingers was too easy not to do, so Daryl went for it, tracing the delicate bones and rubbing at the tendons standing out.

“Wish I could help more,” Daryl muttered, more to himself, but Rick had heard it, too.  
“You’re helping,” he whispered back, nuzzling between Daryls shoulder blades, making him shiver when the stubble scratched at his skin. “I… It was the first time I didn’t want to wake up,” Rick admitted quietly, and Daryl’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. When he looked back at it, Rick had slept through the rest of the night without as much as a peep.  
“Good dreams for once?” He asked gruffly. Rick nodded behind him.  
“Just one dream,” Rick confirmed, voice still hushed.  
“What was it about?” _Something nice? A Saturday’s night out back in the old world? Lori in a sundress? A five-year-old Carl getting smeared with chocolate or other sticky stuff and looking adorable?_  
“You.”

_Oh._

When Daryl turned around, Rick wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was focused somewhere between them, glued to the ratty sheets and the old blanket they were covered with. He kept on speaking, though, and what he said made Daryl’s skin tingle.  
“It was quiet… peaceful. We were outside, in front of the prison… lying on the grass and talking about something. It was… _nice._ More than nice. And it felt so warm…” Rick’s words had gotten quieter with every second, until they trailed off into nothing. He bit his lip, still averting his eyes, before he added on a whisper, “I want that.”

The decision wasn’t hard. It wasn’t hard at all… to tell the truth, it might have been the easiest decision in Daryl’s life.  
“Ya can have it.” It was so fucking easy to say that, it almost made him dizzy. “Ya can have _me,_ Rick.”  
“What about you?”  
“What ‘bout me?” Daryl asked back, confused.  
“I don’t want to _make_ you do anything…”  
“Ya ain’t.” _And wasn’t that the truth._

Suddenly, Daryl realized that he had always wanted something from Rick. It might not have had a name at the time, it may not still have a name. But it was there, it was in the description of Rick’s dream, in the scent of fresh grass outside the prison that Daryl could almost _smell._  
“Ya ain’t _making_ me… what ya said ‘bout yer dream… I want that, too,” Daryl gruffed out. He waited a moment, and then Rick was looking at him again, his eyes a brilliant blue that never ceased to amaze the hunter.  
“Really?” Rick asked, and Daryl couldn’t help himself. With a small nod, he leaned in, pressing their lips together.

Logically, he knew that it wouldn’t stop Rick’s nightmares for too long. He knew that he would have to wake him up in the middle of the night again, knew that the battle inside Rick was still ongoing. He knew that there were many more terrors waiting for them and that he wasn’t some kind of a miracle worker. But he’d be damned if he didn’t keep trying to help Rick in any way he could… especially if it had the potential to make him feel happy, too.


End file.
